


Grey Hair

by Khaelis



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-07 13:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14671839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaelis/pseuds/Khaelis
Summary: That's it. He's getting old. And he doesn't like it.Thankfully, Rose does.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sleeping in my documents for some time, but I only finished it today, so here goes.  
> I just really wanted to write some more TenToo x Rose, and I find this perspective very interesting.
> 
> I'll probably write a second chapter to this and up the rating a notch, unless you're not interested!
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it!

* * *

 

 

****

“Doctor, I swear to God if you don't get out of that bathroom now I’ll kick the door open.”

****  
  


He barely heard her threat, barely peered at the door behind him through the mirror. It was true he had spent far too long in the bathroom, but he had a very good reason. Several reasons. First, to keep her from witnessing a small-scale panic attack that might have had pulled a tear or two from his eyes. Second, to find a way to hide it, so she wouldn't see the horror of it.

Well, it didn't  _ look  _ horrible, but it certainly  _ felt  _ horrible. That was it. The very first obvious sign that this rubbish human body was aging, and all the rest it implied. According to the small plastic card Rose insisted he should always keep in his pocket, he would turn fifty a few days later. To a Time Lord, fifty was nothing but a quick blink of an eye, a flutter of an eyelid. To a human, that fifty marked the beginning of the second half of their pathetically short lives. He was old. Very old. Older than he'd ever been before, even as a Time Lord. Ancient, almost. 

He wasn't scared of dying, because he had long accepted this body wouldn’t last. He was simply scared of aging. Scared the changes in his body would somehow… Make him too different from the Doctor Rose had fallen in love with. It might be too awkward to her. She had started to love him when she thought he’d always remain the same lanky man with wonky features and long spikes of brown hair. But now. Now, he certainly was different from that ideal she had married. 

There was the few pounds he had managed to pack on for indulging in way too many of the meals she prepared him every night, and all those unhealthy lunches she put in his bag before he left for work. And then, his lower lip had gotten just a bit poutier, his left eye a bit bulgier, his crinkles a bit deeper. And then, this morning, he had found out about that one thing he dreaded. He could contract his abdomen when she was looking, just to make it look a bit flatter. He could smile and make faces to hide his growing wrinkles and softening features, just to pretend time wasn't taking its toll.

But there was nothing he could currently do to hide the tiny tuft of silver hair growing among the mane of brown. He had tried to sculpt the hair around to bury it, but it hadn't worked. He had tried to trim the top to make it less visible, but it hadn't worked. He was trying to paint them back to their original colour with careful strokes of his fingers covered in a thick layer of her eyeshade, but it wasn't working that well either.

****  
  


“Doctor, I’m coming in, yeah?” she said behind the door - and it flew open before he could protest.

****  
  


She stared at him, raised eyebrow and fists firmly planted on her hips - how had she managed to keep such a slender waist when his was but a long gone memory, he didn't know. She spotted the tubes and boxes of hair gel on the counter, the comb full of hair, his fingers dirty with black power, the contents of her toilet bag all gathered in the sink. 

****  
  


“What on Earth are you doing with my makeup?” she asked, picking up his wrist to watch his fingers from up close.

“I’m not, I mean, I’m not using your makeup to…  _ Makeup _ ,” he stuttered, hurrying to wash his hands with a blob of soap. “I was looking for your hairbrush and… It just all fell and I’m trying to… Nevermind, it's nothing. I’m done anyway. We should go.”

****  
  


But of course, she had seen the hair products, the comb, the awful quantity of shiny gel plastered all over the top of his head. She only smiled, suddenly much less irritated, and handed him a towel.

****  
  


“I like it, you know,” Rose pointed out, purposefully glancing at his hair.

“You like what?” he shrugged as he shoved all of the products in the bag and set it back on the shelf.

“Your hair,” she simply answered. “It's beautiful. The good kind of grey, silver and all shiny.”

“I do not have grey hair yet, thank you very much,” he huffed, though the blush spreading on his cheeks did a poor job at backing up his claim. 

“You've had gray hair for ages, Doctor,” she giggled, running her fingers through the short strands at the back of neck. “It started there.”

****  
  


She gently tugged on a spike going astray just behind his ear. She trailed her fingers around, until they reached the slightly flat area of his skull and scratched her nails on another patch of hair.

****  
  


“Then here,” she continued - and she rolled an arm around his waist as she did, pressing into his back and staring at his reflection through the mirror. “And that one, it appeared two weeks ago.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” he muttered, swatting her hand away from his head. 

“Because I like it,” she repeated, pinching the light swell of his abdomen in retaliation. “I like everything about you. I like that you're human. I like that you're growing old with me, like you promised. You thought I wouldn't notice? Your breath when you try to hide your belly, or your forced smiles when you try to hide the crinkles at the corner of your mouth?”

“You… You did?”

“You're my husband, you plonker, of course I noticed. And guess what, you’re not smiling twenty-four seven, and sometimes you have to breathe like everyone does. I see it, Doctor. I’ve been seeing it for months. I said nothing because I love it. I love you, slight overweight, grey hair and wrinkles included. I just want you to be yourself.”

“Well I hate myself right now,” he mumbled, trying to get free of her hold she wouldn't loosen. “Look at me, Rose. I’m fat and hideous and so old.”

“Fat, yes, alarmingly so,” she agreed.

****  
  


He frowned at those words, but rolled his eyes when she grinned at him from above his shoulder and snatched the hem of his shirt from his trousers. He grumbled when she ran her hand in circles over the small lump that, she had to admit, was slightly overreaching above his belt. But she loved it. Its warmth, its softness, its thin layer of coarse hair that disappeared under the waistline of his pants. All those things she had learnt to love about this human the first day they had spent together, and all those things she still loved despite his most vehement protests.

****  
  


“And hideous, too,” she smiled, pressing her lips on the side of his neck. “But you’ve always been hideous, it just didn’t happen overnight. And old. Gosh, you are so old, I think you’re on the brink of death already.”

“It’s not funny, Rose, look at me.”

“I look at you, my Doctor, I always look at you.”

“You should have told me, then,” he groaned, still miffed that she had been seeing these things for ages when he only had noticed them a few weeks before.

“Tell you, then what? What would you have done about it? Go on a diet and dye your hair? Buy a pass to the gym and get botox in your face?”

“Well, if that’s what it takes to be the same as before, yeah, I would do that.”

“Do you honestly believe I would ever love you less because you've grown a tiny belly?” she asked in a murmur, so sincere he almost believed she meant that question - impossible, though, because that would imply he didn't trust her, and she knew just how much he did. “Or love you less because you've got a few wrinkles or gray hair, or weak knees and cranky fingers? That such ridiculous things of your appearance would ever change how I feel for my husband and the father of my children? Do you, Doctor? Because that means I haven't loved you properly.”

“It’s not about love, Rose, it’s about you finding your husband attractive,” he retorted, swatting her hand away from his belly, now revealed by the few buttons she had undone. “And, excuse me, but you never compliment me on my hair or my body anymore.”

****  
  


Her fingers went back to his shirt at those words, but instead of carefully undoing the remaining buttons, she ripped the two hems apart, little plastic pucks raining down on the tiles. She pulled it down his arms with a harsh shove, staring at him through the mirror, looking at her own hands mapping the contours of his broad shoulders, trailing down his pectorals, down to his abdomen, down, downer. Her fingertips slipped under his belt, quickly, just enough to see his bright chocolate eyes darken and, quite ironically, the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth deepen as he pinched his lips to keep a moan in.

****  
  


“Rose, the kids…” he started, briefly closing his eyes when her nails grazed the coarse hair at the juncture of his legs.

“Are gone already. Our eldest has her licence now and this is her birthday. She took my car.”

“We’ll be late, we…”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Mister,” she scolded, biting her lips into the soft skin of his shoulder. “Do you want to know something, Doctor?”

“What?” he sighed - both because he was just a bit annoyed, but mostly because he was starting to really appreciate how her body was pressing against his.

“Maybe I don’t compliment you on your body anymore…”

“Ah, see?” he interrupted with a sad grin of victory.

“But you don’t tell me you love me anymore,” she continued, unfazed by his intervention. “The last time was… I don’t know, a year ago, on our anniversary?”

“Of course I tell you I love you, don’t be silly Rose,” he protested, stopping her wrists when she began to move her hands again. “I tell you that everyday.”

“Nope,” she smiled as she broke free from his hold and unbuckled his belt. “But that’s alright. Because I know you do. So I thought… You knew I still find you attractive, too, just like I know you still love me. Because I do. You’re handsome, Doctor, every single part of you. Obviously I haven’t made myself clear enough. I shall remedy that, don’t you think?”

“Rose, love, we’ll be late,” he repeated, bracing himself against the sink, her deft fingers zipping his fly down and popping the button off.

“They can wait. I have a beautiful husband to love, right now.”

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here goes the second chapter I wanted to write!
> 
> It's just a bit smutty, so I'm leaving it under a Mature rating - turns out my need for fluff was stronger this time, sorry if this disappoints.
> 
> But I think it's cute, and I love to imagine these two living their happy life!  
> I'll also write a third chapter - well, just a little scene really, but it's stuck in my head and I need to get it out.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it! :)

* * *

 

 

“Rose, please,” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he nimble fingers reached into his pants.

“Please what?” she smiled at his reflection through the mirror. “Stop, or don’t stop?”

“Stop,” he answered before she gave his erection a squeeze and kissed the side of his neck. “Okay, maybe don’t. But I won’t be blamed if we’re, ah, late.”

“Fine with me,” she giggled as she withdrew her hand just to take his and lead him back to the bedroom. “Now lie down and let me do my thing, handsome.”

“ _ Handsome _ ,” he snorted, plopping down on the mattress as asked, shuffling back to nestle his head in a pillow. “As if you believed that. Seriously, Rose, this is all pointless. I’m a fat wrinkled apple. You won’t change my mind.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try,” she grinned, toeing off her heels and getting rid of her tight skirt. “Now shut it, old fart, and let your wife prove you wrong.”

  
  


He wanted to roll his eyes, but couldn’t detach them from her. She still had this power to hypnotize him at all times, but more specifically when she was undressing. He had trouble accepting the epitome of perfection that she was could already be forty-six years of age, because to him, she was as beautiful as the day he had fallen in love with her for the first time. He watched, enthralled, her deft fingers unbutton her blouse, pull it down her arms, drop it to the side, that one insolent smile tugging at her lips. 

  
  


“Since when does my wife wear red lace?” he asked, eying the underwear ensemble he had never seen before.

“It’s your birthday next week,” she explained as she joined him on the bed and straddled his waist with an elegant throw of her leg - her flexibility, among many other things, was still something he particularly enjoyed. “Wanted this to be a surprise, but you know how much I hate brand new underwear. Wanted to wear it once to get used to it for the big day. Guess I’ll have to find another surprise. So, Doctor, shall I begin with my… Presentation?”

“Like I have a choice,” he sighed, his hands finding their way to her hips out of habits.

“No you don’t, indeed. Part one. Me.”

“You? What do you mean,  _ you _ ?”

  
  


Her only answer was a soft smile. She reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, shrugged it off her shoulders and discarded it to the side, glad to see his sweet chocolate eyes darken almost imperceptibly. She laced her fingers with his and brought his hands to her breasts, splaying his them over the mounds of creamy flesh. Without really thinking about it, he did what he usually did. He caressed their swell, weighed them in his palms, brushed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples. She breathed out a groan and momentarily shut her eyes to enjoy his touch, but remembered she had to carry on with her presentation. She caught his wrists and pulled them down so his fingers trailed down her abdomen to settle on her lower belly. 

  
  


“See?” she said softly, ignoring the gooseflesh that spread to her skin under his warm hands.

“See what?” he raised an eyebrow as he caressed her body he knew by heart, trying to spot something out of the ordinary.

“Forty-six, four kids, Doctor,” she smiled, mirroring the patterns of his gentle strokes over his chest. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not as fit as I used to be either. Saggy boobs, little fat belly, a few stretch marks.”

“Nonsense,” he protested with a vehement shake of the head as he rose into a sitting position to hug her body close to his. “You’re as beautiful as ever, love, just as gorgeous.”

“Then why can’t you accept that I still think you’re as handsome as ever, Doctor?”

“Because I’m vain?”

“Well, at least we’re getting somewhere,” she giggled, giving his jaw a playful bite. “Now, part two. You.”

  
  


She pushed him back on the bed and shifted higher up his waist, smirking at the gasp that fled past his lips when she ground over his lap in retaliation for his sigh of defeat. She buried her fingers through his mane of brown spikes that felt just a tad stickier than usual, thank the many layers of gel he had used, but the result was the same. She knew he husband, and she knew he loved it when she played with his hair, pulled on his strands and scratched her nails on his scalp. Sure enough, at the first tug he closed his eyes, and at the first scrape he bit into his lip. She found the grey spot he had tried to bury among the brown - how he had even believed he would have been able to hide it, she didn’t know. The tuft stood out almost comically, like a single white petunia planted in a large bed of red ones. But only the colour was different. It felt the same under her fingers, just as soft and thick as the rest, just as rewarding when she pulled on it and he answered with a moan. 

 

She could see all the years they had spent together in that grey hair, all that time she had been blessed with with this beautiful man on her side. Twenty years into their marriage, four beautiful children, and when she looked at him she still saw the man she had fallen in love all those years ago. She loved the grey hair because it reminded her time was a precious thing and should not be wasted. 

  
  


“Don’t touch that horror,” he whined, shaking his head to divert her fingers away from the patch of silver hair. “I’ll have it dyed tomorrow.”

“I like it,” she said as she clenched her fingers tighter around his spikes, using her hold to pull his head back and lick her way up his throat to suck the soft patch of skin under his jaw into her mouth. “I think it’s important. When I look at it, I remember the chance I’ve been given to spend my life with you. I remember I love you more than life itself, and I remember you love me. I want to see it everyday. I want to see it and remember. Don’t dye it, please. I like it.”

  
  


She pulled on his hair again to turn the objection she felt coming into another one of his throaty moans and kept going. She trailed her fingers down his sternum, traced the edges of his pectorals that had softened over the years, teased his nipples with her fingertips and watched his face. Like she expected, his eyelids fluttered shut and his mouth pinched, the tendons in his neck straining under the skin. She kept a hand over his chest to continue with her ministrations, and brought the other back to his face. She ran her index over the crinkles at the corner of his eyes that spread out to his temples, followed the curve of the hollow of his cheek, swept over the prominent dimple dug into his skin, pressed against the wrinkle that fell from the edge of his mouth. As far as she could remember, the corners of his mouth had always had a tendency to be pulled down by a mysterious gravity. The years had only made it more visible. Deeper, longer. She replaced her finger with her lips and tweaked a hardened nipple between her knuckles.

  
  


“I like to think I contributed to those wrinkles,” she murmured against his skin, shifting down his body to rub her center against the erection she still felt under the layers of clothes. “When I pleasure you, you always make the same face.”

“What face?” he grunted, prying an eye open to see her smirk at him.

“That one,” she said just as she slid her hand down his body to grab his length through his trousers - the face he made that came with his groan perfectly illustrated what she meant, and it seemed he realized. “But I also like to think… Those wrinkles show just how much you’ve smiled for the past twenty years. When I see those wrinkles, I see your happiness. I remember all those times we’ve laughed and smiled and shared our love. The day we got married and you couldn’t keep that stupid grin away from your face. The day I told you I was pregnant for the first time and you couldn’t stop laughing like a loony. The day our first daughter was born and you couldn’t stop crying. I love your face, because when I look a you, I see my handsome husband, and I remember why I’m happy.”

  
  


She knew that, after this, he would never dare to think his wrinkles made him ugly again, lest he’d hurt her feelings. She knew he was vain, but she also knew he was vain mostly because he didn’t want he to think he was growing unattractive. She hoped that was enough to convince him she still thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen - the lack of protest was already a good sign. 

 

She heard him suck in a gasp when she shuffled down his leg, grinding down hard on his crotch before she did, and she stole one last deep kiss from him before she went on a journey south. Her mouth followed the shallow line between his pectorals, planting wet, open-kisses on the way down, until she reached the soft curve of his belly. 

  
  


“Hm, not much to say about this,” she smiled, cushioning her cheek against the flesh, drawing little heart shapes with a fingertip over his side. “But I like it. And you can’t do anything about that, darling, because you can’t judge what I like. There’s plenty of things I love that you hate.”

“You love sappy novels and pear pies,” he huffed as she scraped her teeth over the underside of his bellybutton. “Not very reassuring, given your more than questionable tastes, love.”

“‘Kay, let’s put it that way, then,” she nodded, cradling her chin in the palm of her hand as she lazily rubbed his hardness. “You love me and you trust me, yes? So, if I say I like it, you have to believe me. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

“I…” he started, but had to swallow when she finally tugged on his trousers and underwear to gather them around his knees. “I suppose.”

“Sorry?” she teased, kneeling between his thighs before she wrapped her fingers around his hard base and squeezed hard, just to steal to the last thread of his coherence and win the fight.

“Yeah, ‘kay, I believe you,” he whimpered as his hips jerked up to follow her movements. “I mean, ah, it’s just a bit a fat, right? And it’s kinda,  _ God _ , your fault, so…”

“Exactly.”

  
  


She didn’t wait for another reaction on his part and bowed her head to take him into her mouth - the only efficient way she had ever found to keep his gob under control. It didn’t stop him from moaning and cursing and growling his pleasure, but at least that hadn’t changed. She knew exactly how to get him there, knew every little thing he loved and every little sound he made depending on how she touched him. It was comforting, in a way. To know her husband was exactly the same as he’d ever been, no matter how much he thought he’d morphed into something he loathed. She could only hope he understood she still loved him just as much. Hope he accepted she did.

 

It didn’t take long before she heard the low groan he usually made at the pinnacle of his pleasure and felt his fingers tangle in her hair as his back arched from the bed and his toes curled into the sheet. She brought him down from his high with gentle caresses and a few kisses pressed on the swell of the belly he didn’t like, then plopped down next to him to wrap her arms around his chest heaving with the remnants of his pants. She nuzzled his cheek with the tip of her nose, dropping a few more kisses on his jaw, brushing a hand through his hair.

  
  


“You’re beautiful, my Doctor,” she murmured, watching his softening features, a glint of adoration and a gleam of affection in the depth of her eyes. “You’ll always be.”

“You’ll always be, too, my Rose,” he answered softly, content to bask in the love and the warmth of his perfect wife. “I love you.”

“I know, darling. I love you, too. And I love your belly.”

“Don’t push it,” he grinned, poking the soft spot above her hip where he knew she was ticklish. 

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. Now, get your old ass up, we  _ really  _ need to go. And you have quite the belly to drag behind.”

“I take back what I said, I hate you.”

  
  


His hearts only soared with more love when she patted the soft lump with a cheeky grin and climbed off the bed.

 

* * *

 


End file.
